You Can Take My Heart
by a starr in photo
Summary: Its all sort of surreal, she was fine, had been fine for so long. No warning, no nothing. And now she's dying and there's nothing anyone can do. Major Character Death. Cade.


Not many people would notice the difference- her demeanor was all a façade anyway, the only thing different was what she was hiding but she hit it well all the same. I didn't, couldn't blame her really. She had her ways of coping and I had mine and as polar opposites as they were, we were the same. I think that's why I noticed. Or maybe it was because I had known her for so long, or maybe it was because I was the only one who realized that her bubbly personality was a façade to begin with.

Still, everything changed that day.

There was nothing particularly special about it. I dragged myself out of bed at my usual time, downed my usual morning cup of coffee and stopped for another on the way to school like usual. It was a perfectly unremarkable day and I met Beck at his longer. Andre and Tori and Robbie and Rex all showed up and I'd never say it out loud but I glanced around looking for Cat. She had a habit of getting herself into trouble by accident, and as heartless as I may seem to most people, Cat is my best friend, I worry about her. When she walked up to our group I was just a little bit relieved that I didn't have to pull her out of the hands of some scummy douchebag who wasn't good enough for her. But then I heard her talk, and it was the same stuff really, babbling on about the ducklings she'd stopped to help cross the road on her way to school. I looked around at everyone else, wondering if they noticed what I had noticed, but they hadn't.

They couldn't see the forced light in her eyes, didn't notice the way she bit her lip after a few words- only for an instant, they didn't see the way her face pulled the corner of her mouth down even when she was smiling. They couldn't see that something was wrong. More wrong than usual. Even Tori the god-awful saint was none the wiser.

I didn't say anything, the way I had never brought up the façade before. It didn't need to be acknowledged- Cat knew that she could talk to someone if she wanted. She knew better than anyone, that if it was serious (which I could tell it was) she could talk to me. I'd listen to her.

Instead of offering up my companionship, we didn't talk until the last period of the day after lunch, and I turned down her requests to hang out twice before giving in. A well-practiced charade, she knew I'd give in; I knew she wouldn't give up and yeah I wanted to be there but I did have a reputation to uphold.

I didn't go to her house; she didn't go to mine- the coffee shop halfway between was usually where we went to talk. Cat was the only, Beck included, who was fully aware of my family situation and I was fairly certain I was the only one who knew about her's. We'd gone through those painful years together, but we both understood that it was easier to meet somewhere neutral.

"I think I want to be a unicorn tomorrow," Cat decided aloud in that light airy voice that kind of makes me want to hit her. She didn't always talk that way. And we sat down at my favorite table, me with my latte, her with her iced green tea latte with extra sugar and whipped cream. Really? But I'd learned not to say anything. She was sensitive about the stupid stuff.

"And a Pegasus the day after that?" I deadpanned before rolling my eyes and taking a drink of my coffee. She couldn't ever seem to drop the mask completely, but she was usually a bit better when we were alone. I know I had- still have- it rough. My family is awful, past experiences weren't all that great but what I went through pales in comparison to Cat. I remember when we were six, in the school play together as singing daises. One day during play rehearsal, Cat was called out into the hall where our principal was waiting for her. At first I had expected to be called next, the way I usually was because Cat couldn't lie and I wasn't a good child even then. But she didn't come back to practice and my name wasn't called and it wasn't until that Monday when I found out what happened. Cat's older sister had been killed by a drunk driver as she was walking home from her friend's house. I don't remember her sister much, but she was four years older than us, and Cat had idolized her. And she'll never tell anyone, but the color she dyes her hair was her sister's favorite color.

I didn't see Cat until a week after that, my mom took me to the funeral and we were only six and death was a bit of a foreign concept to her, she'd never been as interested- fascinated by mortality like I had been.

Even from across the casket, I could see the bruises coloring the exposed skin on her arms, and Cat wasn't clumsy. I was too young to understand at the time, but even I could tell something was off. We didn't talk about it. We still haven't. That's not the kind of relationship we have. But she knows I know. And I know she knows things about me. Cat and I work because we understand each other without words, usually.

That day was different though. I couldn't tell what was wrong, only that something had changed. Sitting across the table from her clutching at my cub, I had to ask. Interrupting her soliloquy about the family habits of mini muffins, "Cat," my voice was sharper than I had intended, and I could see the hurt spreading across her face and my stomach churned with guilt. Cat had always been more fragile than most. "What's wrong with you today?" I continued without apologizing- she'd get too hung up on it if I did and there was actually an answer I wanted out of this encounter. She frowned, and I almost felt bad for asking.

"What do you mean?" her voice was struggling to maintain that innocent airy quality that I hated so much, and that put things in perspective for me.

"Don't fuck around Cat. You're not fooling me, I'm not blind." Harsh but that was kind of just my personality.

"I'm sick." I hadn't heard her actual voice in years and it startled me. She didn't mean a cold or the flu or something simple like that. Not if that's what this was all about.

"What do you mean?" I had to ask. I knew she wouldn't continue unprompted.

"I'm going to die."  
Cat jokes, but not even she would try something like that, and I know her well enough to know that here's no exaggeration in her statement. Cat was dying. I didn't know what to say, my voice caught in my throat and I looked over at her, still smiling and it reached her eyes in a way that most people couldn't imagine.

"What?" I finally sputtered out, because how could that ever be enough information?

She looked at me, and I know the sadness in her eyes was sympathy for me, not mourning over her fate. She had accepted this already but I could feel my world collapsing around me. I can't remember a time when Cat wasn't in my life, and I never really considered the possibility that she might ever not be in my life. Why would I? She rarely even gets sick. Or not that she lets on at least.

"I was born with a heart defect," she starts, "they repaired it to some extent when I was an infant." I realized that the scar on her chest must be from that, but I hadn't even questioned it before.

"But it's back, and it's only going to get worse. I need a transplant but it's unlikely that they'll find a match in time." What she's saying doesn't make any sense, was all I could think. She's fine. She was sitting across the table from me in a coffee shop. She didn't look sick... But Cat doesn't lie- not about something like this.

"Why won't they find a match in time?" The words leave my mouth before I can think them.

"Rare blood type," she shrugs, and I don't know how she can be okay with this, because I'm not. Not at all.


End file.
